


Ride or Die

by uglywombat



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: AU, Angst, Biker Bucky Barnes, Brief descriptions of surgery, F/M, Mild Language
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-05
Updated: 2020-05-05
Packaged: 2021-03-03 05:21:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,069
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24029554
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/uglywombat/pseuds/uglywombat
Summary: You return to the small town you grew up in after your father’s death only to come face to face with the past you had left behind.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Original Female Character(s), James "Bucky" Barnes/Reader, James "Bucky" Barnes/You
Comments: 17
Kudos: 98





	Ride or Die

**Author's Note:**

> This was my entry for @bigbandbombshell “400 Follower Challenge”. My prompts were “Hurt” by Emelie Sande and the image of a barn.

It’s amazing how in the passage of time some towns never change, how some people cannot grow or mature with the times or life experiences. The small, insular town you had called home during your childhood had not changed in the slightest. Not since the morning you had packed all your meagre belongings into the beaten up old Chevy and left for medical school. **  
**

Stepping into your father’s house had been like stepping into a time warp, the furniture and smell exactly how you remembered it. Your heart tugged as you had crossed over the threshold, seeing the typical disarray of belongings you had grown up with, giving up on trying to pick up after your father. Locking yourself away in your immaculately clean bedroom for hours, hiding from the utter chaos in your studies or escaping from the house entirely and seeking comfort with your childhood friends.

It had been the only saving grace of growing up with your intractable father.

You could recount every detail of the day you had received the call from your father’s lawyer breaking the news of his death. Neck-deep in your residency in the Mount Sinai Emergency Department, you’d been halfway through a marathon shift. You were numb, crouched in a deserted hallway listening to James Rhodes tell you Tony Stark was dead. The news hadn’t sunk in until you had finally sat down on your shitty pullout bed in your apartment and reality hit you hard.

Your relationship with your philandering father had been strained following your mother’s passing when you were young. Unequipped to raise a small daughter by himself, Tony had hit the bottle hard and relied heavily on his friend “Rhodey” to keep you out of trouble. And to their credit, you had stayed out of trouble, a miracle given the strong gang culture blanketing the small town.

That was until you had fallen for the town bad boy, James “Bucky” Barnes.

To this day, your heart still fluttered at the thought of the brunette boy who had stolen your heart. And despite your busy schedule and poor attempts to move on with your life, you often thought of him. Soulful, knowing steely eyes, boyish good looks and brash grin.

The small town’s hospital car park was virtually empty as you dragged your bone-tired body towards your car, the effects of your 24-hour shift coating your muscles. You had been particularly lethargic since your return, the suffocating emotions flooding fast and furiously as you moved back into your father’s and readjusted your life.

The last thing you had wanted was to transfer your residency to the small town’s hospital, however, the sentimental value of the house your father had built with his bare hands weighed heavily on your shoulders and heart. You could not bring yourself to sell it until you had in the least sorted through his possessions yourself.

Your heart stilled as you heard the familiar roar of motorbikes approaching on the main road and you hang your head in a desperate attempt not to bring attention to yourself. You could have sworn the thudding of your heart echoed through the car park as the passing lights shone off the old truck.

Your heart had all but shattered learning that Bucky had taken the presidency of the Avenger’s M.C. from his father, George. He had promised you that he would get out of this godforsaken town and move on with his life. He’d promised to come to New York and start a new life with you.

You’d sworn on both your mothers’ graves.

As the growl of engines dissipated in the night air and you dared to look out onto the road, the sight of retreating motorcycles, you released the breath you hadn’t realised you were holding.

There was no doubt in your mind he knew you were back in town. Town gossip was a wonderful and expeditious virus and the M.C. President always knew what was happening in his town.

As you drove home, the air blasting against your face to keep you awake, you thought back to the young carefree boy who’d stolen your heart at the tender age of eight. On that rainy Wednesday morning when he’d punched Brock Rumlow in the face for kicking your shins on the rundown playground.

Even back then, your father had warned you of the Barnes curse. He had cautioned you about giving your heart to a boy destined to take control of the dark cloud suffocating the small town.

You had seen the demise of Winifred Barnes at the hands of the Avengers M.C. president, her husband George. Her fate set at the end of a loaded gun and the delusions of a man grappling with his power.

Bucky had sworn to turn his back on the legacy laid out before him and yet, like moths to a flame, neither of you could escape the pull of the small town you had been born in or the pit of family.

Nestled in the treeline, your father had purposely built the small cottage style home away from the neighbours, providing your mother privacy to work from home before she had passed. Despite a tumultuous childhood, the fond memories were stronger than and outweighed the negative and you were finding it hard to make your way through your father’s belongings. The thought of selling the house still makes your stomach turn.

Killing the engine, you sluggishly forced your body into the house, your skin desperate to be rid of the scratch of the cheap, well-worn scrubs. You could practically feel the warm water of the shower as you locked the front door and made your way into the kitchen.

As you neared the door you stilled at the familiar scent of chestnut and clove. Unmistakable and heady. Your stomach dropped and you forced the breath out of your chest as you moved into the kitchen.

At the small table there he sat, the cut proudly draped over the chair, a fresh glass of scotch on the table and his gun laid out as a warning.

“Let yourself in why don’t you Bucky. Help yourself to whatever you like Bucky.” Your voice was lethargic, the fight has all but gone; your body completely worn out and not ready for this battle. “If you broke a window to get in you’re paying to fix it.”

The flash of amusement in his eyes was unmistakable but brief in the low light of the pendant light above the table. The stiffness of his body and scars should have been enough of a warning sign, let alone the way his fingers danced over the gun.

The silence that fell over the room was deafening, your ears ringing with its heaviness. As your eyes locked onto each other, you could feel the vitriol and malice churning under his cool surface.

Steely grey eyes twinkled as he pulled his gaze over your scrubs-clad body, smirking at the purple Crocs on your feet, before the glacial stare locked on yours once more.

“You shouldn’t have to come back.”

His dark, lush voice is like wading into the Pacific waters in the height of summer; warm, soft and all-consuming. You’d spent many a night dreaming of his lulling timbre, whispering sweet nothings in your ears when your heart cracked in the solitude of your apartment.

“In case you hadn’t heard through your little band of outlaws, my father died…”

“You shouldn’t have come back because of that piece of shit. There is nothing for you here.”

You scoffed and moved over to the table, your eyes holding his gaze as you drained the scotch he had poured from himself and slammed the glass onto the table. “Despite his many faults, my father was one of only two men who truly loved me. I owe it to him and to Rhodey to…” You bit the sob in the pit of your chest, tapering down its ascension. “You know what, I don’t owe you a fucking thing. Get the fuck out of my house.”

As you moved to break free of his gaze, long fingers gripped onto your wrist and you found yourself chest to chest with the man you would have given everything up for. Deep down, you knew you would still sacrifice yourself for him.

“You swore you would never come back to this place.”

You tried to pull your arm from his tight grip, but he was too strong. “You might have the people in this town quaking their boots over the great Bucky Barnes, but I know the real James. And he doesn’t scare me. You stay the hell away from me and we won’t have a problem.” The hurt glazing over his eyes tugged on your heart and you had to neglect the urge to sooth the familiar ache in his heart. His grip loosened and you pulled yourself free. “I’m going to bed. Clean up after yourself.”

The adrenaline coursed through your body; rushes of nausea washing over you as you forced your way out of the kitchen and up the stairs. Your body didn’t hit the floor, your breakfast lost down the toilet until you heard the rev of the bike’s engine and tyres skid.

*******************

You wouldn’t cross paths again with Bucky for another week.

The day had started so well. You’d made good progress sorting through the myriad of crap, treasures and rubbish in the garage. Boxes upon boxes of memories; toys, baby clothes, books, photographs. The house had looked like it belonged on an episode of Hoarders when you had first come home, as it had for much of your life.

It was suffocating being surrounded by the heavy reminder your father had struggled and lived a life drowning in pain and booze. Your skin crawled as you dug through the dusty boxes and you fought through the tears as you painfully selected items to donate to charity or throw in the trash.

Albeit a successful endeavour, by the seventh hour, your body and mind were screaming to escape the mountains of memories.

A well-timed message from your childhood best friend, Darcy, found you laughing and throwing back glasses of wine in the small town’s only bar. It was like no time had passed, you both drunkenly slipping back into the easy-going banter and teasing that had been a life-raft through your teens.

Despite the wine going to your head and Darcy’s inviting aura, it was hard to ignore the curious glances from patrons, including the small collection of M.C. members sat at the bar. You recognized the friendly giant, Drax and Rocket, his Mohawk more prominent than ever.

On borrowed time, because you knew Bucky would no doubt show his face soon, you relished in the one-on-one time with your old friend.

Two bottles of wine and the threat of a day-consuming hangover, you bid Darcy farewell and began your walk home. You missed the convenience of the trains and taxis of the big cities, but the walk was refreshing and delayed your return to the house.

A faint smile appeared as you fondly remembered the night Bucky had helped you break out of the house and taken you to your secret hiding place in the abandoned barn on the old Laufeyson property. He had held you so tightly as you sat in front of him on your bicycle, placing sweet kisses on your neck and cheek as you rode together.

Lost in the charming memories, you failed to hear the modulation of gears behind you or the approaching lights.

You startled as the midnight black Range Rover pulled up beside you, slowing to your pace as the tinted window lowered.

“Dr Stark, welcome back.”

You froze to the hot concrete ground as you locked eyes with Senator Alexander Pierce, the man who had been a thorn in your father’s professional and personal side for years.

It was no secret that Pierce had some dubious and questionable ties with the darker side of the state, however, he had proven to be untouchable time and time again.

“Good evening.” You shuddered at the evident tremor in your voice before uprooting yourself from your spot and quickening your pace.

“I was so sorry to hear about your father.”

Liar, you thought bitterly as your chest tightened with your increasing speed, the car keeping up. “Thank you, Senator.”

“How about I give you a lift home?” He was like a fox, cunning and unforgiving when he attacks.

“Thank you but I’m okay,” you said giving the politest smile you could muster, “I could do with the walk.”

“Dangerous part of town for a beautiful young woman to be walking around.” You could feel his sharp eyes roam over your body. “But then, you would know all about the type of folk that like to hang around these parts. Have you and Mr Barnes rekindled your little relationships?”

Your stomach dropped and you resisted the urge to flee into the alleyway. “Mr Pierce…” You snapped your mouth shut as the sound of motorcycles approached. Your skin crawled as the lights drew closer, engines revving as the bikes circled you and the Range Rover.

You could feel the steely grey eyes on you as you stared at the ground, internally berating yourself for going out and walking home drunk.

“Go home Stark,” Bucky growled quietly as he pushed past you and glared at Pierce through the window.

“No, stay darling, I would hate to interrupt this sweet reunion,” Pierce drawled, his lip quirked in amusement and the light sparkle in his eye evident under the light of the street lamp.

“Not in front of her.” Bucky’s voice was firm but low.

“Fuck you, Barnes,” you snapped, “you don’t get to tell me what to do.”

You flinched as you saw the small tick in his jaw as he glanced over his shoulder at you. “Pierce, we don’t need to involve her…”

As you began to launch into a spiteful and alcohol-fueled rage you felt the warm hand on your neck and the hot ripped body behind you. “Sssshhh.” The voice tickles your ear and you turned to see Steve Rogers and you rolled your eyes as you spied the Vice President patch on his cut.

“Mr Barnes, you are in no position to be asserting your dominance. Your cards hold no weight here unless of course, you would like to continue to try my waning patience.”

The arrogance dripping off of the older man was sickening, the way he glanced over each of you like a possession was sobering.

“If I catch you pulling moves without my knowledge or consent again Barnes, I’m going to take your little girlfriend and add her to my little collection of whores. Perhaps I will gift her to our mutual friends in Mexico and have you personally deliver her over the border.”

The only thing keeping you from crumbling with fear was the strong hands on your biceps. You were so lost in the haze of fear and adrenaline you failed to see the car move and Bucky turn to face you.

“Doll? Doll?” His voice was so faint, as though he were talking underwater. He glanced at Steve who simply looked away as warm hands gripped your cheeks. “Doll, I need you to focus on me. I’m going to take you home.”

Just like old times, though you were mostly unaware of what was happening, you obediently wrapped your arms around his waist, resting your cheek against the cool leather of his cut as he drove you home. The last time you had been on his bike had been the night before you had left this godforsaken town.

You finally snapped from the foggy haze as Bucky pulled you from the parked bike and into the warm house.

At a loss for words, you could only watch on as Bucky took in the chaotic surroundings. Boxes of your father’s possessions carefully stacked one upon the other and bags of trash haphazardly thrown around the room.

“I’m sorry about your dad.” His voice was strained and tired as he refused to make eye contact with you.

You sighed and slid down the wall behind you, the adrenalin dump making your head woozy. “What the hell happened Bucky? You…” you ran your hands over your hair, drawing a shaky breath. “You promised to come to New York. You wanted out. And I come back and you’re… not only are you president of the club you wanted nothing to do with but you’re in bed with Pierce?”

“Doll…”

“Do not call me Doll. You lost that privilege when you decided to cut me out of your life without so much as a fucking goodbye.”

Watching him stand in silence, his cool gaze on you sent a surge of anger coursing through your veins.

“I loved you.” Your voice cracked under the weight of your words. Years of grief and loss finally bubbling to the surface. “I gave you everything and you tossed me aside like a piece of trash. I waited for you. I called you every night for a year…”

The silence was acrid, gnawing at your skin as he sat on the floor before you, steel eyes watching you carefully.

The muscular brunette drew in a deep breath and flicked his tongue over his pouty lips. “I was going to meet you. Had my bags packed and all.” His soft, vulnerable gaze broke from yours and he bit his lip aggressively. “The night before I was going to depart I was called to the club. My father… my father told me that if I chose you over the club he would come after us and drag me back with your… your blood on my hands.”

The anger and angst seeped away like stormwater as you watched tears break over his cheeks.

“I could not live with myself if something happened to you.” He drew a shaking hand across his cheek, embarrassed by the onslaught of bottled emotions spilling everywhere. “I never stopped loving you.”

Your heart tugged painfully in the tight confines of your chest as his eyes locked on yours, soulful tin eyes holding the weight of the world. You’d have given anything to wrap the broken soul into your warms, wrapped in layers upon layers of crumbling stone to mask the pain he held inside. The pain only you had seen him bear.

“I love you, Bucky, I’ve only ever loved you. Come away with me.” Your voice was wet and trembling as you knelt before him, your hands instantly fussing over the scars on his hand, thumbing at the crest of tattoos scattered along his arm. “Let’s get out of here. Go somewhere they will never find us.”

The melancholy smile that painted his lips broke your shattered heart and you pulled away, embarrassed by your breakdown.

“If I leave, Pierce is going to give the D.A. a lock-up full of incriminating evidence against the club and there will be no going back. If we went inside a lot of families would suffer. Steve’s mom… Sarah is dying and he would never get to see her before she passes.”

Your knees shook as you stood up and you leaned your head against the wall. “I understand, really do but I’m not going anywhere Bucky. I owe it to my dad to finish packing up the house.”

Bucky scoffed as he got up and pinned you against the wall, the anger reverberating off of his body as his forehead came to rest against your chest. “Why are you doing this? He didn’t love you. He drank himself to death because he was too selfish and wrapped up in his own grief to take care of his own kid.”

You chuckled bitterly, willing the tears to stop as you turned to face him. “I wouldn’t expect you to understand, Bucky.”

The anger flashing over his eyes sent a chill down your spine. He angrily ran his tongue over his lip as he searched your eyes. “Don’t come crying to me when Pierce comes knocking at your door for a good time. For your own sake, I’d just bend over and take it like the little whore you can be.”

His words cut at you like a cleaver and the resounding echo of your hand connecting with his cheek hung in the air.

“Get the fuck out of my house, James.”

You stood your ground, watching the rough M.C. president snarl at you before storming out of the house. Out of the very room you’d stood side by side taking photos before prom all those years ago.

***********************

A month had passed since the night of your encounter with Pierce had snowballed into a chaotic eruption of feelings and confessions, and you had not seen or heard from either man. However, you were well aware of the conspicuous escort following you to and from your shifts at the hospital and parked outside your house.

Bucky’s words still hurt, but deep down you knew he was trying to push you away for your own sake. It had been his defence mechanism as a young child and it was clear that his time in the M.C. had done nothing to soften his harsh blows.

It was a stiflingly hot evening, the air heavy with heat and thick with humidity when you were awoken from your slumber by the incessant knocking on your door. You were recovering from a particularly gruelling and unnerving two-day shift thanks to Dr Banner going on sick leave without warning. 

Needless to say, your frustration only grew as you descended the stairs, begging the knocker to quit it. Flinging the door open to reveal a dishevelled and bloodied Steve, you gasp.

“He needs you, Doc.”

Without a second thought, you throw on the closest jacket you could find over your see-through singlet and old Converse before following Steve out onto his bike. You ride in silence, the hum of the engine vibrating through your frayed nerves. The unfamiliar feeling of thick muscle under your touch an all too foreboding hysteria of what you were being dragged into.

The tension in Steve’s body only matched the heavy heat swamping the air as he pushed the bike beyond the speed limit, his eyes cast down to the rearview mirrors so often it put you on edge. From what little you did know of the M.C.s politics, members very rarely rode on their own. So, as Steve sped up the deserted back road, farms and acreage plots surrounding you, putting a great distance between you and the small town centre, you knew something terrible had gone down.

Your suspicions were confirmed as the M.C.s VP pulled the bike from the main bitumen drag and onto the dirt road leading through the abandoned Laufeyson property and to the old barn.

You had spent many a night hidden away in the old barn as a child with Bucky or your small, tight-knit group of friends. It had been your safe haven from your father’s tumultuous drinking and passive-aggressive anger.

Like the town centre and the folk who called this county home, the barn had not changed an inch. Through the cracked and broken windows, a low light shone and you could just make out the hushed voices and groans over the sound of the running engine. Before Steve could turn off the engine, you jumped off of the bike and ran into the dusty old barn.

“Jesus Christ, Barnes,” you exclaimed seeing the pool of blood on the aged wooden floor, Sam pressing down on the bleeding wound in his stomach. He was pale and shivering and seeing the amount of blood he was losing, it wouldn’t be long before… He looked scared and for a moment you were glad Steve and Sam were here. “Don’t you have anything better to do on Saturday than get shot?” You tried to tease, a practised measure used to calm worried patients.

You carefully knelt onto the ground beside Sam and gingerly moved the Bucky’s t-shirt from the gunshot wound. You would have to act fast.

“Had to get your attention somehow doll,” Bucky teased right back, his breath wheezy and the smirk on his usually plump pink lips weak. “Told you assholes this would work.”

“Got you some tools,” Steve said, dumping a bag and cooler beside you, his face strained as he looked over Bucky.

The medic bag, clearly stolen from the hospital, was full to the brim and the cooler had blood, fluids and antibiotics. You looked at Steve questionably, only to see the blonde shrug his shoulders. With an eye roll, you gloved your hands and set up the IV with blood and fluids, asking Sam to move to the other side, keeping pressure on the wound and Steve to hold the bags. 

“Buck, I need you to listen to me, okay. Whatever you do, I need you to keep talking to me, because we all know you love to talk shit. I need you to stay awake no matter what.” Your voice was calm and trained, although it was hard to hide the anxious bubble in the pit of your gut. If you lost him…

“Anything for you, doll.” His boyish grin warmed your heart as his hand weakly gripped yours.

“It’s gonna hurt like a bitch.”

“Won’t hurt as much as losing you.”

“You’re getting sappy in your old age,” you teased. You pondered his words as you set to work, half-listening to his weak recounting of the shooting. Feeling around, you desperately try to locate the bullet and evaluate the damage. “Well, the good news is your friend managed to miss your organs.”

Bucky scoffed, wincing at the instant jolt of pain. “And the bad news?”

“You’re stuck with me a bit longer. Now hold still, this is going to be uncomfortable. And I hate to say it, keep talking.” You turned to Sam. “Keep pressure on that while I get some stuff ready to go.”

Bucky’s chuckle was like honeyed bourbon, delayed with his waning adrenalin and focus. “Tell me Doll, did you miss me whilst you were living it up in the big smoke?” You cautiously glanced over at him, finger deep in his gut as he watched you carefully. “Nah, you probably found yourself a McDreamy…”

Your heart pulled as steely grey eyes flickered and squeezed as you pinched at the bullet. “You know me, Bucky, like my men old, saggy and dependent on little blue pills. Alright, this is going to be painful, so take a deep breath for me and think of England.”

“Think of England? You think you can make me come…” His smart arse retort was cut short as he howled in pain, your fingers pulling the bullet from the deep tissue. “Fucking son of a bit…”

“Alright, sailor, it’s out,” you said soothingly, stroking your hand gently over the hard planes of his stomach. “I’m gonna stitch you up, it’s gonna…”

“Yeah, yeah. It’s gonna hurt like a bitch, keep yapping at you.”

As you carefully stitched him up, your banter was playful, with Sam and Steve butting in occasionally to pull Bucky back from the ledge of unconsciousness. You joked about the past, reminiscing about the time Bucky had broken into Fury’s ice-cream parlour and stolen a pint of the cherry gelato when you had tonsillitis.

It was like no time had passed, the conversation care-free and jovial, despite the needle passing through Bucky’s skin. Your father’s death, the shadow of the M.C. were forgotten as his fingers numbly caressed the skin of your thigh as you cleaned him the best you could, incessantly talking.

A final vitals check, you shared a weak smile, brushing your hand over his forehead.

“Thanks, doc.” His eyes drooped, colour finally returning to his face as the pain medication kicked in.

“Anything for you, Buck.” Your confession hung in the air.

“Stark?” Steve stood right behind you, shifting on his feet.

“Go, Doll. Don’t give the poor guy a hard time.”

You chuckled weakly and placed a soft kiss on his forehead before slowly pulling yourself up from the floor and following Steve outside into the humid air.

“What the fuck happened, Steve?” It was hard to miss the tears forming in his eyes, the final wash of adrenalin seeping from both your bodies as you squared off. “He needed to go to the hospital.”

Steve chuckled, his hands on his hips as he stared you down. “If it were possible, princess, he would be tucked up in a comfy ward having some hot nurse give him a bath and a hand job.” He smirked as your lips twitched in frustration. “He’s not been the same since you came back.”

You arched your eyebrow and stared at him incredulously. “Seriously? You’re trying to blame this on me?” Steve knew how to push your buttons, bringing out the facetious bite you ordinarily hid under a mask of cool professionalism. “No, you’re absolutely right, Steve, Bucky getting shot has nothing to do with your club’s illegal dealings. I’m the selfish bitch who came home to pack up her dead father’s belongings and thrust myself back into his life.”

Your relationship with Steve had been testy at times, both vehemently trying to protect Bucky, butting heads for most of your childhood. This was no different. The typical click in his jaw as he digested your sarcasm, the pinch in your brow as you tried to hold his cold stare.

“Pierce shot Bucky because he was trying to protect you. He took a bullet for you tonight.” Tears blistered in your eyes as reality hit hard. “You should have left town.”

“You think I want him to hurt?”

“It doesn’t matter, he nearly died tonight because of you.” The arrogance in his stance was infuriating, towering over you with the upper hand. “He can’t go back into town, not until Pierce’s men have quit looking for him. You need to stay here with him.” Wrapping your arms around your waist, you nodded. “He never stopped loving you, Stark. He’s never going to stop sacrificing for you.”

Aggressively wiping away the tears, you turned your back on the overwhelming blonde.

“You need to stay with him whilst we go back into town and re-evaluate the situation. If he dies…”

“I won’t let him, Steve,” you snapped turning around to face him. “You’re not the only one who loves him.”

A throat clearing drew your attention to the open barn door, Sam pocketing his phone as he stepped outside. “Barton needs us, Rogers.”

Steve refused to make eye contact with you as he stormed back into the barn, the blood on his cut dry and cracking as the leather shifted with his movements.

“Hey,” Sam said warmly, pulling your attention from the blood and your gnawing guilt, “you know he doesn’t mean it. He’s just… he got a scare tonight.”

“He’s right though, Sam, I’m his Achilles heel and Pierce knows that and is going to continue to manipulate that for as long as…” The breath escaping your lips was so tight your chest constricted and you flinch. “I couldn’t live with myself if anything happened to him because of me.”

You watched the bikes retreat from the old barn, their lights disappearing between the line of trees as you worked up the courage to go back into the barn.

You had lost your fair share of patients over the years, but seeing Bucky bleeding out on the floor of the barn had shaken your professional and emotional walls to the core. It was the final nail in the coffin you had buried deep inside, holding the all-consuming feelings and fears you dared not show anyone but the devilish brunette.

He looked so soft and vulnerable, teetering on the edge of slumber as you quietly moved into the barn. Sam had thrown away the evidence of your make-shift surgery, the I.V. bags hanging off of an old coat rack, moving Bucky onto a pile of old hay.

“Hey, doll.”

His voice brushed over you like a warm towel and you smiled tiredly.

“You can sleep now, Buck.”

“Not without you.”

Knowing this was an argument you wouldn’t win, you lay beside him on the blanket. His skin was still cool, but his pulse and heartbeat were strong as you fought back the urge to curl in against him.

“He will die before he lays a finger on you.” The dangerous edge to his voice was weak but his lethargy did little to quell the Amal bubble of fear in your gut.

Silence fell over the barn, Bucky’s breathing slowing and deepening as he finally gave in to the sleep calling to him.

You dreamt of blood and death that night, seeking comfort in the warmth of the familiar body beside you, and the calming scent of his skin and cologne. It was like no time had passed between the last night you had held each tightly the night before you had left your life in the backwards town, and now. As if you had not been separated by states and land, and years of trying to forget.

You awoke the next morning to the sun streaming through the cracks in the barn’s windows and walls, dust dancing in the streaks of light. You could feel warm cinereous eyes exploring your face before you turned to meet them.

“You’re still here.” The small, broken voice pulled at your heart.

“Of course I am, Buck.”

The bubbling surge of emotion and tears caught in your throat as your thumbs smooth over the fine lines of his forehead. You can’t bring yourself to joke that you couldn’t let him die in the night in the barn you’d lost your virginity to him one starry night.

“Please don’t cry.” His lip wobbles as his fingers tentatively reach out to brush over your cheeks. “I’m sorry I gave you a scare.”

Your chuckle comes out more like a huff as you bite back the sob threatening to explode from your chest. “If you do that again I will kill you myself.”

His smile was weak but warming, his eyes sparkling in the light of the early morning. “I’d like to see you try.”

You took your time checking his wound and taking out the I.V. lines, happy with his levels. “Fit as a fiddle.”

“Fuck, you’re so beautiful doll.” You glanced down at the drowsy brunette, his eyes lingering over the curve of your hip. “You’ve gotten so strong and… I was an idiot to let you go.”

You chuckled nervously, looking away in a desperate attempt to dampen down the slow-building tension. “It’s the drugs talking, Buck. You need to rest.” You tried to ignore the warm hand creeping along your hip and over your exposed legs. “I mean it, doctor’s orders, go to sleep. I’m not restitching you when you open your wound.” Your forced chuckle was weak as you tried to bat away his incessant hand.

Hot lips press against your shoulder as he leans up, his hair brushing against your skin as he basks in the memory of your touch. “I need you to be my doll, not my doctor.”

You huff out in frustration and turn to face him, your face stern. “Lie the fuck down Bucky before I…”

He silences you with a rough, needy kiss, his tongue caressing your soft pout, his large hand gripping your neck in an alpha display of dominance. “I can’t let you leave me again.” His voice was small, almost childlike, his steely eyes full of desperation.

“I couldn’t take another breath knowing you are stuck in this club because of me Bucky, especially with Pierce. I’m not going anywhere with you this time.” The relieved, vulnerable smile on his lips broke your heart. “Whatever it takes to get Pierce off your back, I’m with you.”

When Sam and Steve arrived a few hours later with supplies and fresh clothing, they weren’t surprised to find you and Bucky entangled with each other, sleeping peacefully in the quiet barn.

”Let them be,” Sam whispered as Steve seethed. “Give him a moment of peace before the world turns upside down.”

**Author's Note:**

> Feedback always welcome x


End file.
